Christmas in California
fiction
edward w pritchad
Pray in a circle to more than one God when Santa Anna winds return to earth
sleep back to back to and fro when harsh sounds plummet your abode
Lie face to face in solditude and rise in the dark,
Cross legged X your arms right to left over your flickering heart,
Stumble blindy down snowy mountains to foggy seas burnt by invisible suns
whisper to dead ancestors beckoning existence, there are no right answers only questions when winds aloft suck the moisture from barren ground
bravely remember sadly forget Santa Anna winds howl overhead;
lush lemons are blown off sacred trees, when the Minstral returns to California at Christmas.
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